Trying to get into whatever the spirit of Boxing Day is

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I am a Californian. I have also been an Idahoan. And a few other things, none of which has any idea what it means to really feel Boxing Day and all it means to good little boys and girls the Commonwealth over. And so today we went with the Brass Clan (Lady Steed's family) to a wax museum on Pier 39 in San Francisco.

My parents had given us six tickets so our only expense was $45 to get the youngest of the Clan in and $563 to park. What I love about touristy areas is how welcome they make you feel by keeping the prices at a level that makes you feel rich when you realize the largesse you've spread about. Even if all a tourist does is park and gaze at city weirdos, the city can make him feel rich.

Hooray for tourist-friendly areas of major American cities!

Anyway, I haven't been to a wax museum since that other Bush was president and somehow the creepy wax simulacra weren't all I remembered. For instance, I don't remember Hirohito wanting my soul. Or Newton listening for that ethereal buzz that is driving him mad. Or Kate Winslet's uncomfortable smile as she tries to fake happy-to-be-here as--is that Leo?--looks on.

But it was nice to see Bush II sharing a laugh with Arafat, Salvador Dali pretending to be Geoffrey Rush, and Jezebel's careful hairstyle that saves her a lot of money on t-shirts.

From there we hit the Musee Mechanique, with its coin-operated cowboys and peep shows and county fairs and arm wrestlers. The price has risen to a quarter on almost all the exhibits since the musee moved to Fisherman's Wharf so we didn't bring to life as many of the hundred-year-old cyborgs as we may have liked--no execution scenes, for instance. But perhaps that was good. I'm not so sure the Big O had enjoyed the scenes of torture and dismemberment from the hall of horrors a half hour earlier.

Well, there's no accounting for taste.

Happy Boxing Day.